


change a heart to a little white dove

by thundercracker



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternative Pronouns, Fluff, Noncanon Pronouns, Other, Proposals, post-MTMTE 49
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 06:10:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6041131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thundercracker/pseuds/thundercracker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With a mnemosurgeon dealt with and the Lost Light safe once more, there is much to discuss. </p><p>In the haven of a habsuite, a minibot and a warrior confide in each other. One gazes on with awe in her optics, another with hope in cer spark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	change a heart to a little white dove

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place after MTMTE #49 and is published before the release of #50, so if you're reading this after #50 is released... welcome to the happy gay au
> 
> Cyclonus uses she/her/hers pronouns.  
> Tailgate's pronouns are cie/cer (e.g. "cie is in love with cer suitemate").
> 
> The title is based off of misheard lyrics to The Power of Love.

“Cyclonus!”

A secret smile grew on Cyclonus’s faceplates.

The (ex-)warrior turned her gaze from her habsuite’s window to its door, a familiar face in the middle of the opening. Her thoughts flickered briefly to a time not so long ago, when the same voice had greeted her, flinging cerself at cer suitemate, full of joy and gratitude after a recovery. If Cyclonus never again had to worry and wait for the minibot to return to her safely, it would still be too soon.

“Tailgate,” she greeted, knowing her expression and the ever-decreasing stiffness in her shoulder pauldrons betrayed her even tone. “I am glad to see you well again.”

“I should be the one saying that!” Tailgate countered, eagerly approaching and gesturing at the other. “I thought you’d—you could have _died_!”

“As could have yourself,” Cyclonus noted seriously. “We are both fortunate, and doubly so. It seems there was quite a commotion while you were recovering as well. I can only assume whatever resulted in the lockdown avoided the medbay.” After a hesitant pause, she added, “I am relieved. I worried for your safety.”

Tailgate beamed knowingly.

“No need for that!” cie proudly chirped, already getting lost in cer own story. “I woke up during all that actually, and I didn’t know about the lockdown so I started walking around and, of course I was looking for others and found Getaway—I’m guessing the truth came out about the whole Megatron incident? But then—”

The stiffness had returned to the other’s frame, Tailgate finally noticed; shoulder pauldrons angled down and back sharply, mouthplates clenched tight.

“It’s alright though! I’m alright. Better than alright,” Tailgate assured, servos waving. “I’ll give the full story some other time, but–Rung’s old coworker, I guess, brought onboard a mech who can do mnemosurgery just by looking, and he was making everyone turn themselves inside out, so Rung—can you believe cern model ships had actual firepower?—shot his optics out, and Megatron chose the absolute _worst_ time to reject violence. Megatron, in the middle of an actual life-or-death fight! So I was the only one who could do anything. And suddenly I just—I felt so strong, and I picked up the _entire Rodpod_ and just—tossed it at him! The mechs-inside-out one I mean, not Megatron.”

The minibot looked expectantly up at the other and quickly added, “Lottie says something happened to my spark during my panic attack after you, well. It’s made me into a new kind of outlier, she says.”

Cyclonus’s optics had been slowly widening.

“It’s a miracle, Cyclonus!” the minibot insisted. “I’m not weak anymore. I’m stronger than—than Megatron, even!”

The neutral bot vented deeply, then her faceplates shifted into an expression of something Tailgate couldn’t place, sorrow or pity or regret or relief, or maybe all of them and more. Clawed servos reached down to gently but firmly grasp cer shoulders. It was a familiar action.

She drew cer closer, bent down, and looked straight at cer. This, this was less familiar.

“You were never weak, little one,” she said, a soft smile on her sharp face, awe in her optics. _It took me far too long to realize_ went unsaid.

“I thought,” Tailgate started, and paused. “Getaway always said you thought I was embarrassing. Pathetic. _You_ said I was pathetic.”

“I have… made many mistakes,” Cyclonus admitted, averting her optics, and the confession felt far easier than she had feared. “You were so full of hope and eagerness. Galvatron had… not thought much of such traits.” Red optics met blue, piercingly honest. “I thought they had been weaknesses, but they have been your assets. I was a fool for not seeing your strength then.”

“So you don’t think I’m irritating? You aren’t embarrassed to be around me?”

Cyclonus gently squeezed cer shoulder.

“No one makes me more proud to be seen with.” 

There was a kind silence; fondness hung in the air for some time before the taller of the two broke contact and gestured for the other to follow and sit beside her on her berth.

They sat angled toward each other, ever so slightly, and perhaps the distance between them was less than it had ever been for quite some time, had been since it had been a medical slab underneath the minibot, since the other had been standing dutifully beside cer.

“Getaway,” the minibot began, “he had been—I can’t believe I tried to complete the Conjunx Ritus for that _jerk_ ,” cie groaned. Cie bent over cerself, ex-venting into one palm as the other fidgeted with the vial on cer necklace.

The frame next to cer stiffened slightly. Tailgate could hear gears locking into place.

“He didn’t even tell me what he was _doing_ until he gave me those blinkin’ needles and said I had to—ugh. I’m so _stupid_!”

Without full consciousness of the fact, cer frame had tilted itself toward Cyclonus, and small shoulder pauldrons stiff with anger and betrayal melted when her servos carefully rubbed circles into the one nearest herself.

“I am sorry, little one,” Cyclonus said simply.

“Do you know about the Four Acts?” Tailgate asked again, removing a servo from cer face enough to see the other.

“I do.”

“Then I guess you probably realized, back when I was—when I was _dying_ , the first time, that we—” Tailgate cut off with a humorless, static-laced laugh. “Getaway went through so much trouble to fake caring about me, to do the Four Acts, and all this time, you and I’d done them without even thinking about it! And I had no idea. I hope you didn’t think I was leading you on, or… something.”

Cyclonus took cer servo in hers then, slowly and gently; Tailgate distantly recognized the repeated movements of her fingers as a chirolingual phrase Getaway had tried to teach cer.

“You were not aware what your kindness implied,” Cyclonus hummed. She had lowered the pitch of her voice; her words were a deep, reverberating hum that made the tension melt from the servo intertwined with her own. “I… am relieved the Acts were not completed,” she said. _Because you deserve to have someone by your side who will look at you and see strength and courage and brightness,_ she did not say.

For a while, for a long while, the only noise between them were the sounds of servo on servo, the soft thrum of engines; a gentle silence. Neither seemed willing to break it for some time. And then, when the emotion in the quiet room became too much, too pure, too strong for two mechs who had not spoken honestly in so long—

“Cyclonus, I—”  

 “Tailgate, would you—” 

 “Oh, you first,” Tailgate urged.

“No, you.”

“…I was afraid you’d died.” The minibot could not look at cer suitemate’s optics. “I’m glad you’re alright.” 

“Likewise,” Cyclonus replied, and Tailgate noticed that the phrase she was signing on cer servos had changed. Smaller circles, a lighter touch, all smooth lines and curves. “I’m told your reaction was quite a sight.”

“Well—!” Tailgate huffed indignantly, “…I don’t know what I’d do if you were gone.” 

“Likewise,” Cyclonus admitted, and waited until the other made optic contact with her willingly. “I had thought about it before, but recent events forced me to realize that… you have changed me, little one.” Here she paused, returning her gaze to the movement of her servos. “I have been… cruel to you, in the past, when we first met. I saw you as an irritation then, because I wished to be alone. Because I wished to avoid the attachment that led me here to this ship. And yet I became attached to you despite myself, and I feared what would happen if I lost you, though I have nothing to offer you.”

Whirl had certainly made that last point clear.

Tailgate inclined cer helm thoughtfully, and Cyclonus was quiet so cie could speak.

“Cyclonus, would you—,” the Autobot began clumsily, “you don’t have to answer now—but would you, um… consider performing the Four Acts with me?” Cer optics were wide with hope and nerves. “Intentionally, this time.”

Cyclonus was quiet and tense, and Tailgate felt her unconsciously moving her servos around cers, signing chirolingual words that cie could once more recognize from Getaway. Terms of endearment, he had said. Cie wondered if he was telling the truth.

“It just seems,” Tailgate continued, panic welling ever so slightly behind cer visor, “that you’ve always been there for me, and what I’m asking is, will you be my conjunx?”

“Yes,” Cyclonus finally answered, smiling a tired and pure smile, and she looked at Tailgate as if cer optics were the most holy of Primus’s artifacts. “Nothing would mean more to me.”


End file.
